A StakeOut, A FakeOut and a makeout
by CarolineIsThine
Summary: Veronica and Logan go on a stake-out. Set one month after the Series Finale. One-shot.


A Stake-Out, A Fake-Out (and a make-out)

"_It is a dark and stormy night. Moonlight pours in through the window of the detective's car, illuminating her face. Such a wise and knowing face it is for one so young. Music begins to swell ominously – the faint strains of a Harmonic Minor key building both tension and a sense of surrealism. The camera pans down to reveal her espionage equipment. Tracers. Wireless microphones. State-of-the-art digital camera. And what's this? A cereal box spy-pen that writes in invisible ink? That certainly lends authenticity to"-_

"Logan!" hisses the wise and knowing detective, jabbing her index finger threateningly in the direction of the young man smirking in the passenger seat. "We are on a stake-out! As I've already mentioned numerous times, I have a _job_ to do – and if you can't behave, I'm sending you home."

"Just admit it, Mars. You've missed me."

Veronica Mars is ready to throw up her hands in exasperation. They have only been in sitting in her Saturn for _half an hour_ and she's already starting to crack.

"You know," says Veronica conversationally, "I kind of thought that one of the benefits of breaking up with someone was that – maybe – the amount of time you spent with them, like, _decreases_ or something."

Logan crinkles his nose in faux-confusion. "From _where_ do you get your sources?"

"Why, Cosmo Girl, of course," she says, fluffing her hair and batting her eyelashes. "Surely you're not suggesting it's unreliable?"

"I don't know," answers Logan, shaking his head regretfully. "I read their April issue cover-to-cover and I still can't get _any_ of the Jonas Brothers to notice me."

"Well, did you read the May issue? How to seduce dweeby underaged virgins in five steps or less?"

"Sadly, no."

"Then don't go dissin' on CG."

"Great. I'll go back to narrating."

Veronica groans.

"_As the raindrops pound on the roof of"_- "There is no rain!" –_"the getaway vehicle, our resident detective laughs raucously at the antics of her faithful sidekick."_

"You're not my sidekick. _Wallace_ is my sidekick. And, um, don't tell him I said that because he finds it surprisingly derogatory."

"Then who am I?"

"You mean, besides an enormous pain in my ass?"

"Yeah. I mean, within the conventions of 'noir.' Which is our genre _du jour._ Or _du nuit._ Whatever."

Veronica narrows her eyes. "Clearly the villain. Whose attempts to slowly drive the detective insane - though pathetically obvious – are nevertheless effective."

"Well, I think I'm the anti-hero."

"Great. Fabulous. Go be anti-heroic. Go _home._"

"Veronica." Logan's voice turns serious and there is a hint of warning in his eyes. "Ex-girlfriend, mutual ally, best 'frenemy' – whatever the hell you are to me. You're still not sitting in a car by yourself at night."

"Logan, it's 7:30 – it's barely even dark out!"

"This is a bad neighborhood."

She honestly cannot believe him. "This is a gorgeous neighborhood!"

"Well, the neighborhoods to which I'm accustomed are gated sanctuaries with private security assigned to each home."

Veronica resists the urge to smack her ex-boyfriend upside the head. "I distinctly remember this one time – about a month ago – when I told you that we _weren't_ going to be part of each other's lives anymore."

"That's funny. I distinctly remember this one time – about six months ago – when I did this thing with my tongue and then you couldn't move for the next fifteen"-

"LOGAN!" hisses Veronica, scandalized. "What the hell would possess you to bring… _that_… up?"

Logan looks at her questioningly, the very picture of innocence. "I'm sorry. I thought we were just free-associating."

Veronica silently fumes to herself. This had been a terrible idea. A terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad idea. She had been delusional to let him come; to think that they could _ever_ be friends after everything that had been transpired between them.

As if sensing her frustration, Logan gently changes the subject. "So what's the master plan? Do we go in guns a-blazing?" He looks out the window. "And _where_ are we supposed to go in guns a-blazing? You haven't given me much to go on here."

Right. Business. She can do this.

**0000**

**0000**

**0000**

"It's a dog-napping case. My client is a Ms. Guinevere O'Shea who owns a purebred, prize-winning Toy Poodle named Sonya. Ms. O'Shea took Sonya to the local dog park. At the end of their walk, she let go of the leash for just a few seconds to set up Sonya's carrier. This was apparently routine for them, and Sonya always sat quietly by the car while the carrier was being set up."

She continues. "But this time, Ms. O'Shea heard a commotion – human voices and at least two dogs barking. She turned around to find Sonya gone. What was worse is that the dog-nappers apparently planted a second dog – a fluffy, little white mutt similar in appearance to Sonya – that they hoped would fool Ms. O'Shea at least long enough for them to make their getaway. But she realized immediately that this was not her dog. She went after the car that she is '99.9% sure' had Sonya in it. She got a fairly good look at it, but it got away before she could get the license plate number."

"I've checked the local shelters and pet stores. I've put up 'Missing' posters on telephone poles, taken out ads in the newspapers, and put up an ad on craigslist with a VERY generous reward advertised - no response. I managed to get a hold of the security tapes from a gas station near the dog park. Ms. O'Shea was able to identify the car in question. In an amazing stroke of luck, the video showed the car turning into this neighborhood. I searched GoogleMaps and found an image of the car parked along this street, but I couldn't make out the license plate. I don't see the car now, unfortunately, and I'm also not sure which house it belongs to."

"What's your plan, then?" asks Logan, looking blown away by the amount of research and energy Veronica puts into her cases.

""Well, I was going to stake-out and watch for the car, but it hasn't shown up yet so I think we're on to Plan B. It's not very high tech," she says, blushing a little. "Basically, I have a dog whistle – imperceptible to humans, highly audible to dogs. I'll walk up and down this row of houses, blow the whistle, and hope that I hear barking – yippy, toy poodle-type barking. If I do, I'll investigate. It _has_ to be one of the houses on this street."

Logan frowns. "Aren't the odds somewhat low that the dog-nappers would keep the dog here? Wouldn't they have tried to sell it already?"

Veronica shrugs. "Welcome to detective work. I chase down a lot of false leads." She rolls down the windows of her car and takes the dog whistle out of her purse. "Okay, here we go."

She steps out of the car; Logan watching her with a bemused expression. Veronica steps onto the sidewalk, puts the whistle to her lips, and blows as loudly as she can. She is amazed and delighted to immediately hear two barks – one deep and growly, emanating from two houses down and one yippy and high-pitched, coming from the house directly across the street from her. She smiles at Logan and points to the house across the street.

She turns around at the sound of the car door opening and shutting.

"I'm coming with you."

"Logan – no. Seriously. No. I work much better solo."

"Just because these people stole a pet and not a person doesn't make them less dangerous. You have no idea what you could be stepping into. And as usual you're taking unnecessary risks."

"Logan…"

"I'm coming. Deal with it."

Veronica grits her teeth. "Fine," she huffs. "Just – just do what I say, okay? Go stand closer to the garage, so that you can't be seen from the front door."

Logan doesn't look happy about it, but he complies.

Veronica rings the doorbell and hears the dog barking again. Definitely a little dog's bark. Her palms are sweating slightly, and - in the _furthest_ recesses of her mind - she is glad that Logan is here with her. She makes her expression as confident as she can. She will _stare_ _down _whoever is at that door. She will. She will make them _pay_ for what they've done to this poor woman and her beloved dog.

She will-

"Yes, dear?"

Veronica looks straight ahead. And then, in a highly unusual turn of events, she is forced to look down. The tiniest little old lady she has ever seen – maybe three or four inches shorter than herself – has just opened the door, wearing a fuzzy pink bathroom and a lavender night-cap.

Needless to say, Veronica is thrown a little off-kilter by this new development.

"Um…" Veronica clears her throat. "Hello."

The little old lady smiles. "Oh, aren't you precious? Are you selling Girl Scout cookies?" The woman looks around. "Where are your parents, dear?"

Her professional dignity lying in shreds around her feet, Veronica tries to pull herself together. "I'm, um, actually a student at Hearst College."

"Oh…" The lady's already-pink face turns even pinker. "I am so sorry. These eyes just aren't what they used to be. What can I help you with, young lady?"

"Well… I – I have a client." She backtracks. "I mean, a friend. I have a friend. And she lost her dog this week at the Sunny Days Dog Park."

"Oh," says the woman, shaking her head. "That is such a tragedy. My Fluffers and I go there all the time. Don't we, Fluffers?" The woman whistles and out comes a white, fluffy poodle with a little bow on its head. Veronica kneels down to pet the dog and sees the nametag hanging from its collar: _Sonya._

Veronica grimaces. Oh, for heaven's sake. "Um… yeah, about Fluffers…" says Veronica, standing back up. "I think that Fluffers and Sonya might have gotten mixed up at the dog park. This dog's name tag says Sonya. Which is my friend's dog."

The little old lady does an elaborate double-take. "This isn't _Fluffers?_" she asks, pointing in horror at the dog.

Veronica shakes her head apologetically.

"Oh, thank _goodness!_" says the woman, much to Veronica's surprise. "I was going to take Fluffers to the vet – she was acting so unlike herself. She didn't want to listen to me play the piano, she turned her nose up at her favorite dog food, and she wouldn't even _dance_ when I put on the victrola. Oh, if only I'd gotten the prescription on my glasses strengthened, I would have noticed it sooner! Where is Fluffers, please?"

Veronica gave the woman – Violet DeLussey – Guinevere's cell number and then waited while the two spoke on the phone and made arrangements to swap dogs the next day.

"How can I ever thank you, dear? You've been so helpful. Oh, wait – here! Have a Girl Scout cookie."

And Veronica is sent off with a handful of Thin Mints and an order "to come back and visit – so Fluffers can thank his rescuer!"

**0000**

**0000**

**0000**

She waves good-bye and walks back to the car, Logan falling into step with her as she nears it. She'd almost forgotten he was there.

"So I'm guessing you heard the good news," she says, with a sidelong glance at him.

"Mm-hmm."

"It was fortunate you were there, really. Things could have gotten _very_ ugly. I bet she has a mean left hook."

"Better safe than sorry," says Logan, scowling as they both open the doors to the Saturn.

Veronica tries to studiously ignore him as she shuts the car door, but she has to turn in his direction to buckle her seatbelt. She catches his eye briefly – and it's all over.

Veronica can't hold back her laughter. She breathes in once – loudly, making almost a hiccupping sound – and then dissolves into a fit of giggles. Logan, for his part, puts his head in his hands, shoulders shaking with the force of his laughs. Fifteen seconds later there are tears at the corner of Logan's eyes, and Veronica's ribs are beginning to ache – but neither of them can make themselves stop.

"Oh, my God"-

"When she opened the door"-

"And she's all, like, 'Where are your parents, little girl?'-

"I totally should have jumped out of the bushes and been, like: I'm her _sugar_ daddy, sweet-cheeks."- Another wheezing/laughing fit.

"No, I should have held up the taser and been, like: _Surrender Fluffers!"_

"Or else what?"

"Or else my boyfriend will _beat_ your dog-stealing ass!"

Logan finally manages to shake the last of his laughter off.

"Boyfriend?" he asks her quietly.

They are both breathing heavily at this point, coming down from their high. You know, Veronica thinks she's read somewhere (No, _not_ in Cosmo Girl. Probably.) that uproarious laughter depletes the brain of oxygen. Which is really the only explanation for what she does next.

Veronica rockets out of her seat and launches herself at Logan, who catches her without thinking. Suddenly her mouth is on his and he is gasping from the force and shock of it - but then _yes, yes_ - he is kissing her back; fierce, wicked, and messy. He fists his hands in her hair and she plants rough, nipping kisses along his jawline and collarbone; and then they are a beautiful tangle of arms and legs – and pink cloth is rubbing frantically against gray - and blonde hair is splashing against tanned skin –

-and Veronica is home.

She is home.

**0000**

**0000**

**0000**

Later that night, they are lying in Logan's bed at the Neptune Grand. They'd barely been able to make it inside; Veronica shaking with need and anticipation in the hallway as Logan had fumbled desperately for his room key.

She had jumped into his arms as soon as the lock mechanism had sprung free; and he had carried her into the room, her legs wrapped around his waist, still kissing frantically.

Dick had wandered out of his bedroom briefly. ("Really, guys? Again? Seriously?") But neither of them had broken the embrace.

And Logan had taken her into his bedroom. And then -

-there had been shadows stretching across skin – and the rise and fall of breath –

-and the slow, languid build-up of friction –

-and the sharp exhilaration of release.

**0000**

**0000**

**0000**

"_The camera sweeps across the room – lingering on the image of our detective; her tousled hair spread invitingly on her pillow, a wanton expression on her face"-_

"Yo, Hitchcock. Is this a noir film narrative or a porno?"

"Just relax and let me work here."

Veronica laughs in spite of herself.

"_-a seductive beat begins to play in the background as the camera pans over to"- _

Logan glances at her questioningly. "What did we decide I was? We've established that I'm not the sidekick."

Veronica grins. "Isn't it obvious? Within the conventions of noir, you are clearly my _femme fatale._"

Logan sits up abruptly, looking appalled. "Take that back!"

Veronica shrugs. "Sorry, sweet-cheeks. If the shoe fits…"

"Seeing as I don't wear _stilettos_, I'd say the shoe clearly doesn't fit."

"Okay, okay. You're my _homme fatale_, then."

Logan narrows his eyes. "How do you figure?"

"Definition of femme fatale: Damaged; with questionable morals." Logan breathes in sharply at this, but for once he sees no judgment in Veronica's eyes.

"Dangerous," continues Veronica. Logan tenses slightly, but nods.

"Seductive." Logan grins wickedly at this.

"Sexual prowess – _which_ they use to their advantage – even if they're using it on total and complete bi-otches who don't deserve it."

Logan sighs. "Still not getting over the Madison thing, huh?"

Veronica bites her lip. "Actually, I meant me."

Logan's eyes widen, but he lets the moment hang there between them.

"Irresistible," continues Veronica. "Femme fatales are completely irresistible; and the hero is drawn to them over and over again despite their… better judgment."

The silence stretches out painfully.

"If this were a film about _my_ life," says Logan, "that's what you'd be for me, too."

"ME?" squeaks out Veronica.

"Veronica, you're probably the most dangerous person I know. You're incredibly beautiful and incredibly seductive. I'm drawn to you – God, I don't feel _alive_ unless I'm with you – but as you may have noticed… it never ends well. _We_ never end well."

Veronica absently strokes her thumb along his jaw. "This insight that we have… It doesn't sound like a precursor to future bliss, does it?"

Logan shivers slightly. "No." He ghosts his fingers across her cheek and presses a kiss to her forehead. "But it _does_ make for a hell of a story."

And he leans forward until he is over her; on top of her - seeking the heat of her mouth and her body.

_Maybe_, thinks Veronica, _we're not like a film at all_.

Maybe they're like one of those books she used to read in sixth-grade, curled up in her sheets, eagerly flipping the pages back and forth to take in all the twists and turns. You know the ones?

The ones where you choose your own ending.

**FIN**


End file.
